Birthday Suit
by Mairemor
Summary: A little lemony fic about a certain exotic dancer and a lap dance for a certain Viking. Written in honor of FDM's birthday. AH AU rated M for lemony goodness.
1. Chapter 1

_Birthday Suit_

_A/N I wrote this little number as birthday ficlet for FDM _

**_Eric's POV:_**

Gold mist floats down from jets above the stage. There's a collective "Ahhh," interspersed with murmurs of appreciation as she prowls out of the mist, her magnificent, naked body air brushed golden with jet spots. Her stage name is FarDareisMai, and like the warrior women who inspired the alias, I have the distinct impression that this luscious, leopard masked goddess is formidable in every respect. She crouches with her back to us, like a leopard about to pounce, the elegant curve of her spine and hips molding into her toned, golden rump. Low, hypnotic techno music begins to throb around her. She rises slowly, elegantly as it crescendos. Six inch leopard print stilettos accentuate the long, firm curves of her legs. Her rear view is so damn sexy—all I want to do is fuck her, and I haven't even seen the front of her. With her back to us, she straddles the chair, shaking and smacking her perfect ass, swiveling her hips, teasing us, until we are all sporting boners.

Several are waving Bens and pleading, "Lap dance here, baby!"

Without missing a beat, the goddess on the stage grasps the chair, spins forward, and straddles it teasingly, before shimmying up and smoldering her way to the front of the stage. My hands ache to stroke and pinch her magnificent, golden breasts. The features behind the leopard mask are breathtaking, almost familiar. Her lovely, full lips draw back into a wicked smile as she descends from the stage.

Some poor bastard groans, "Please!"

I swim to the surface of my lust-induced trance and realize that, that poor bastard is me.

Her amazing eyes appraise me from head to toe. A pink tongue darts out and licks her bottom lip, and I lick mine in response. She smiles, swings her hips, and trails her hands slowly up her thighs, ass, hips, waist, then lightly strokes her breasts as she lip syncs to the pulsing beat of Le Tigre's, _Well Well, Well: _

_Look who's here. Well well well. Guess it's time for show and tell. Well what do you like and what do you need? How should I act and who should I be? Cuz I got it. I'm gonna give it to you. And you know it. What where when how when who? Or should I supersize it supervise it supersize it oh yeah or should I supersize it supervise it supersize it oh yeah or should I supersize it supervise it supersize it oh yeah. I'm gonna give you the answer tonight. Gonna give you the answer anytime, that's right. Well I don't wanna take it slow. So tell me now I got to go cuz I got it. I'm gonna give it to you. And you know it…_

She moves in and out of the tables, trailing her fingers, brushing her hips, here and there until she's straddling me, her firm, tits just inches from my lips.

I grip the chair as she lowers herself rolling and thrusting her hips so close that I can feel the heat of her thighs. I growl and inhale the arousing scent of her, glistening, perfumed body. I'm on fire from this torture and she knows it—just as she knows the bouncer will pound me to a pulp if I touch her.

I'm close to cumming in my pants—I hear myself beg, "Please!" one more time.

Slowly,_ she _places my hands over the curve of her golden hips and keeps thrusting her hips and shaking that delicious ass as she whispers, "After the show, backstage, first dressing room on the right. "

I nod breathlessly and stammer, "Thanks!"

Who's the lucky boy, now?

As she straightens and moves on, she murmurs in a sultry voice, "My pleasure, Mr. Northman… _my pleasure_."

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Another performer begins her act, but I only have eyes for the beauty exiting the room. I watch her hungrily, feeling the texture of her warm, velvet skin upon the palms of my hands. My cock twitches at the thought of sliding my hands down her long, smooth contours.

Like the sight of a shark's fin heading towards me while I float blissfully upon a calm, sparkling ocean, a sudden epiphany shakes me. She knew my name._ Where? I'm not local, and I'm certainly new to this club._ What's left of my breath exits with a hiss as I realize where and when I last glimpsed this intoxicating woman.

I order another Grey Goose martini to steady myself.

It was about a year ago—a courtroom in Philadelphia. Her luscious brunette hair was blond at the time, and had been styled in a classic chignon . She was wearing a designer turquoise skirt suit. I remember thinking that it took a confident woman to choose that color for this particular profession. I was counsel for the defense and she was sitting next to the prosecuting attorney.

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_**;-D What do y'all think? **_

_**Should I continue with the lemons ?  
**_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's chapter 2. Hope y'all enjoy. Big hugs to FDM , Birthday Suit's heroine, who betas this silliness. Thanks to AmaZen for helping to give shape to this lemon chiffon, and to Zigs for her betaing skills on Ch 1. Y'all are my best girls.

**Attn: SVM readers and writers! SVM Teaser Mondays is still going strong! Get a sneak peak at what is coming up on your favorite fics! Any SVM writer can post a teaser! Subscribe to the thread here (remove spaces): http: // forum. fan fiction. net/ topic/ 55534/19191439/1/**

CH's characters are hers and hers alone.

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**FarDareisMai's (AKA S. Hale Stackhouse) POV:**

OK. Admit it. Some of you think that a second year Penn law student getting ready for a summer job at Leclerq & Associates is crazy to risk her reputable career for the "privilege" of dancing topless for horny guys at The Crane's Nest. I guess the short answer is, yes. I'm crazy enough to enjoy the rush, the risk, the power, the control, and the mystery of being FarDareisMai. Although I dance an hour from my home and two hours from Philadelphia, there's always a slight risk that some colleague might enter the champagne room while I'm doing a floor show or giving a lap dance. Believe me; I'm also sane enough to want to find a way to pay my bills and student loans . Hey, I'm a law student, with a blue-collar background. I've learned the value of money the hard way. My professional career is all about words and arguments; I'm not busting my ass at The Crane's Nest for sparkling conversations.

I'm comfortable in my shoes, my costumes, and my makeup. I've cultivated some customers who always buy private dances, and I know how to get along with the other dancers. I try to encourage the customers to buy a neck and shoulder rub from the massage girl, get some shooters, and tip the dancers on stage. Occasionally, I'll even urge a guy to buy a dance from a competitor. All in all, my double life was running along smoothly, until a friend went missing and a guy I loved to hate turned up at The Crane's Nest.

My friend Amelia, an amazing airbrush artist, was busy getting every line and spot in place for last night's performance. She even managed to conceal a black and blue mark I got doing a fireman's drop on the pole with a little too much oomph. Unless you dance for a living, you have no idea how hard those ab muscles have to work to swing and get that rolling motion from your chest all the way through your legs.

I pretended to be interested in Crystal Norris's nasal chatter as she applied her false lashes, "…so I went back to our local Adam & Eve store to use my store credit for the falling apart velvet shorts and corset set. Their quality sucks! Anyway, I bought this little baby doll with marabou trim…. Adam & Eve don't sell it online and its sooo sexy and cute…sure to get better tips…"

Crystal blah-blahed on while Amelia applied the spots to my (now tawny) derriere.

" …and then Claude said that if Tara didn't call him by tomorrow afternoon , she was fired, 'cause there's ten girls just as good as she is waiting for a chance to dance at The Crane's Nest…"

I dropped all pretense of giving a shit about corset sets and ripped crotches.

I caught Amelia's eye. She looked as alarmed as I did. Tara was healthy as a horse. The only time she'd ever missed work was after she'd been beaten within an inch of her life by a retro leaning thug who called himself of "Mick the Knife;" he was a big Harry Connick Jr. fan. I put up my hand in a futile attempt to get Crystal to shut up for a second. "Wait a sec, Crystal. Tara's missed work for two days and didn't call in?" I'd been busy studying and editing an article for the student law journal, and hadn't even thought about Tara or The Crane's Nest since the last time I danced a week ago.

Crystal shrugged. Crystal wasn't Tara's biggest fan, and the feeling was mutual. "Yeah it's sort of weird but that girl's a fool. Little Miss Sunshine's always lookin' for love in all the wrong places."

Crystal turned her back to pick up her carriage whip and Amelia rolled her eyes. Crystal should talk. _Her_ nickname was "Christmas Tree" because of the unwanted ornaments her hidey hole had accumulated on her own hunt for luuuv.

Now, Tara Thornton was basically a sweet girl who carried a lot of guilt. Her father was a fundamentalist minister. She'd grown up in rural Indiana, in a family where girls never cut their hair or wore dresses above mid calf. Philadelphia's in a deep recession. A nineteen year old kid with a high school diploma and zip experience beyond Taco Bell was lucky to find a "hostess" job at the Crane's Nest. It wasn't long before Claude started training her on the pole. That was when Tara had her hair bobbed, dyed blond, and foiled with hot pink streaks. Even in the midst of that liberating rebellion she was a good girl at heart, and donated her foot and a half of soft brown waves to Locks of Love.

Her parents think that she's a nurse's aid. Well, she _does_ wear a nurse costume sometimes.

Amelia raised her eyebrows. Anything we said in front of Crystal would be exaggerated, twisted, and then passed on to anyone dumb enough to listen to what she had to say for more than a nanosecond.

The fact was that Tara would never miss work for one day, let alone two, when she had rent due and end of the month bills to pay. Crystal was right about one thing, naïve, trusting Tara had looked for love and hooked up with a monster in Armani.

I was thinking that Tara's former sugar daddy, Franklin Mott, might have something to do with Tara's disappearance. Franklin was CEO of one of the largest hospitals in Philadelphia. He was also a manipulative, abusive, bastard with a penchant for young, pretty women and very rough sex. He'd gotten off the hook for beating Tara within an inch of her life a year and a half ago, on a technicality. His thug, Mickey, beat her while Franklin watched from a limo with deeply tinted windows. She wouldn't tell us why, though I'm pretty damn sure she knew. Mickey also got off for insufficient evidence. There were no witnesses, only the word of a frightened young stripper against one of the most powerful men in the city of Philadelphia.

She admitted that a part of her still rebelled against her father, but it was months before she acknowledged that she'd trapped herself in a relationship with another dictatorial patriarch. I was dating a lawyer named Bill Compton and doing a little work in a law clinic, when Tara decided that she couldn't take any more. She showed me the bruises and bites on her thighs, ass, and breasts. Franklin was into rough BDSM. Initially, she might have enjoyed playing a little rough.

Then Mickey joined in on the action. Mickey loved pain and Franklin loved to watch the show. Tara had finally had enough. She and Franknin fought. She'd discovered something about Franklin's activities and, even though she was scared, threatened to tell. She's a kid, but life in Phili had taught her that cops are usually not on the side of strippers. So her threat was hollow and Franklin knew it. But he wanted to teach her a lesson anyway. Bill took on her case pro bono as a favor to me, but also because he could be a compassionate guy…sometimes.

I was on the nearest seat to the bench, and Bill's opposing counsel was across from me, when the judge entered the courtroom. Opposing counsel, the very fuckworthy tall, blond, and handsome Eric Northman, was a notoriously stoic litigator from, DeCastro & Madden, one of the largest firms in the city. Ironically, he exuded a '_**don't **_fuck with me if you value your client's life, property and progeny' vibe. Nevertheless, my ex-boyfriend, Bill, could be as tough as a bull-dog, and was not afraid to get balls deep in litigation if that's what it took to win a case. Despite Bill's evidence and arguments, Northman won the case for his bastard of a client.

I can still see the triumphant gleam in his startling blue eyes when the judge announced the verdict. The "assailant" had fractured Tara's right fibula, two ribs, and her nose. If Mott 's goal had been to end Tara's career as an exotic dancer, he hadn't succeeded. She was tougher than Mott had thought. It took a long time, but she healed and went back to work. That took more guts than anyone imagined that Tara had. Backed by the vast resources of DeCastro and Madden, Eric Northman made sure that those bastards walked out of that courtroom free and clear. How can you do that and sleep soundly at night?

Now Tara was missing. If Northman hadn't won, and those bastards had been found guilty, maybe Tara wouldn't be missing. I hadn't seen Tara in over a week, but we texted each other occasionally. It hadn't occurred to me before, but it had been days since I'd heard from her. She had looked up to Franklin--and had thought that his experience, protection, and…yes…dough would solve all of her problems. You might accuse her of being shallow, needy, and of taking foolish risks to make a buck, but who am I to criticize?

In the midst of my solemn musings, Quinn, the big bouncer who's kind of sweet and kind of infatuated with me, stuck his big head in the door.

"The boss says five minutes Far…"

"OK. Thanks John…I'm on my way."

I slipped my wig of wavy chestnut hair over my pinned-up blond hair, and my alias was complete. Before heading for the stage, I checked my disguise one last time in the full length mirror and the feline FarDareisMai stared back at me. Once the makeup and the wig are on, I'm no longer S. Hale Stackhouse graduate student and intern at Lecrerq & Associates Law Firm; I'm the mysterious FarDareisMai burlesque artist extraordinaire. Nobody, not even Claude Crane, the club's owner, knew a whole lot about where I came from. Once he saw me dance, he honestly didn't much care if I popped out of a rabbit hole. I make both of us lots of money and that was the bottom line.

Fully into my role, I prowled out onto the stage as the mysterious, sexy, beautiful, and dangerous FarDareisMai. I crouched with my back to the audience reveling in the knowledge that I was in control--that every man's eyes were focused on the curves of my waist, hips, and ass. The music begans and I started to dance. Grinding my ass and hips slowly at first, taking my time, I made them beg for me to give them more.

Hah!

Using the chair as a prop I turned slowly, straddled it, and arched backward so that my minimal leather thong covered my vajayjay, well, minimally. And the crowd went wild (it always does at that point).

The audience wolf whistled and called out, "Over here baby!" as I kicked my legs backward and rose majestically to my feet. It was a good crowd. I was going to make some bucks tonight. I swept my eyes over the audience-- To the audience of blue balled, cockblocked males I was a huntress on the prowl--their sex goddess.

I heard some poor bastard toward the back yell "Please!" I couldn't quite see his face with the stage lights, but he's well dressed a businessman probably. Those guys tip well.

_OK big boy…_ I think to myself. _Make my night._

I made my way off the stage, shimmying my hips and shaking my ass, always making my way toward the big game.

He'd turned his chair to face me, his long legs splayed out. As I got closer, he leaned forward and became still, his stare hot and intense. God! He was beautiful! He was wide at the shoulders, narrow at the hip,handsome and blond as a Viking god, with a huge, stiff peen straining at his Marc Jacob trousers. I'm not usually attracted to customers. I'm not there to find a fuck-buddy--even if they are. But this guy…he glanced at my perky air-brushed nipples and smirked, as I straddled him and began to dance.

Then the ten ton shoe dropped. Shoulder length hair--check. Glacial blue eyes--check. Body like a Greek good--check. Massive, self-confident presence--check. Jesus H. Christ on a fucking pogo stick! I was doing a lap dance for Eric fucking Northman, the wily, hard assed bastard who had gotten Tara's twisted sugar daddy and his goon off the hook they deserved to hang from. But fuccck! The bastard was so hot, so masculine…The girls would all be sashaying over here for their own enjoyment.

If my "center" as the romance novels put it, was moving rapidly from damp to Niagara Falls, Eric Northman had definitely fallen under my alias' spell. It wasn't his ass that was as hard as a brass rod. Oh, I had him, and he wanted what I had to give. I've gone fly fishing many a time and understand the dance of the lure. I'm a very good angler. This bastard was going down…but not on me…at least not right away…and NOT without my getting something out of it, other than the mother of all orgasms. I needed information and Eric wanted very badly to inform me. I thanked whatever devious god had set me on this guy's lap. I caught the eye of a waiter who pushed two chairs closer to Eric.

With agility born of experience, I stepped onto the chairs and proceeded to shake my pussy centimeters from Eric Northman's lips. His tongue darted out, and he white knuckled the edges of his seat. Quinn made a rumbling noise that sounded a whole lot like a tiger's growl... He was just waiting for an excuse to throw Northman out, and I couldn't give him one. I took Eric hands, placed them firmly on my hips, invited him back to my dressing room, and walked away. He hesitated for a second. If he had turned down my invitation, his cock woud have turned vigilante and beaten him senseless. One more shake of my lil old puss and SNAP, the big fish was caught hook, line, and sinker.

**Eric's POV:**

From the moment I realized who FarDareisMai really was or, at least, might be--my lawyer's senses started tingling. Mr. Mott was a very reputable, respected, citizen. A philanthropist who gave millions to hospices for AIDS victims, homeless shelters, and provided pre and post natal care for teen mothers. The girl who'd accused him didn't have a record, but Victor Madden had dredged up two businessmen willing to testify that Tara Thornton solicited them. There 's a very long history of whores blackmailing their alleged clients. I was sorry that the woman had probably been beaten by her pimp, but that had nothing to do with the defense of my innocent client and his chauffeur.

_Red Alert! Red Alert! Incoming torpedoes!_

My instincts told me that this gorgeous woman was trouble. The intelligent thing for me to have done would have been to leave a tip and drive back to my hotel room--alone. But my cock had plans of its own, and at the moment The C Man was CEO of the company.

The next dancer had the biggest set of tits I'd ever seen up close and personal. A lot of guys think the larger a woman's breasts are, the less intelligent she is. I don't think it works like that. I think it's the opposite; the larger a woman's breasts are, the less intelligent the men become. While the rest of the crowd had their eyes glued on the new dancer as she rubbed scented oil over her boobs and ass to "Under the Boardwalk," I worked my way toward the "Staff Only" door. A huge, thickly muscled bouncer, with fists like mallets, gave me the once-over. Before my courage unraveled I announced, "FarDareisMai..."

The bouncer, who had_ Mighty Quinn_ tattooed across his knuckles, nodded. "Far said you could go back." As he pushed the door open and I squeezed past his wall of solid muscle, he clapped my back, nearly knocking the wind out of me. "Don't know how you did it...but you just won the Golden Ticket buddy. Can't even tell you how many guys have tried to bribe me to get back there. You're the first _customer_ she's ever invited..." He said "customer" like he was saying "douchebag." The liberating effects Grey Goose vodka brought out my inner Viking. My fist clenched. I'm a big guy myself. His big hand tightened on my shoulder; angry purple-black eyes bored into mine.

His smile had nothing behind it but teeth. "I don't know how you got so lucky...You better play nice. You hurt my princess--you answer to _me_. The name's Quinn, John Quinn."

He had to be fucking kidding! A Bond reference? With his refrigerator physique, he looked more like Oddjob-- Either way, "answering" to him would be bad news for both of us.

I gazed at Quinn with the steely look I saved for opposing counsels and pushed past. First dressing room on the right. Oh God! My dick was functioning as a GPS. It was about to save my hand the bother and knock on the door, when a sweet southern voice called out, "Come on in Mr. Northman…"

When I enter the room my libido went into sensory overload, and crotch rocket took on a new and personal meaning for me. First there was the distinctive fragrance of FDM's very high end perfume, Creed's _Love in Black,_ violets, rose, and just a hint of cloves. That fragrance on her sweet warm, skin…well, my cock twitched with approval. God, the scent alone made me crazy to touch her again, even as the lawyer in me noted that at two-hundred dollars per two ounce bottle it was hardly a working girl's perfume.

More importantly, FarDareisMai was in the shower and the shower door was nearly transparent! I could make out the sweet curves of her beautiful full breasts, hips, & ass. Sweet Jesus. Definitely a natural blond! My crotch rocket started its own little countdown.

Without turning off the shower, she opened the door, turned around to display the most luscious ass in the universe, and said, "I can't quite reach this spot right here above my bon-bon. Care to join me and do the honors?"

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**:-D You like??/You hate?? Let me know what you think!! Please review.  
**

**1-13-2010 My handsome son Tom is 21 today. Happy 21st birthday Tom! Woots!**

**Naughty or Nice Pimpage[remove spaces]: http:// (dot) net/community/ Naughty_or_Nice_One-shot_Contest/ 76327/ 99/ 0/1/ Please read my fic "Luck" and the other great entries.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3 Birthday Suit**_

_**Too many nights, staying up late,  
Too much powder and too much paint  
No you can't hide from the turning of the tide… **_

**Richard Thompson "Turning of the Tide"**

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_**A/N:**_ _**William Faulkner I'm not (more like Benjy, The Sound and The Fury's "idiot," not the pooch). Here's my stab at stream of consciousness…um… smut. FDM, I love you to death! Is FDM not the best sport on the planet for putting up with this shizzle? All legal research for this chapter was conducted while viewing Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law, on Cartoon Network's Adult Swim.**_

_**The voice of The Conscience (FDM's is Ms. C.) Is italicized cause I'm being all literary-n-sh*t**_

_**Eric is part of CH's permanent entourage, but FDM/S. Hale Stackhouse only works for her part-time.**_

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**EPOV (libido enhanced stream of consciousness while he strips…thoughts racing at the speed of lust)**

I locked the door…very good Eric…very sane…very…naked beautiful woman inches away from me… Warm water cascading over creamy shoulders…down the wings of her shoulder blades, dipping into the delicious tawny curve above her world class ass… Bubbles, twin bubbles, perfect, smooth peaches....

That's it baby…turn some more. Ah those big ,warm, wet tits …

Christ! Christ! Smooth waxed...She has a tat of a blossoming tree where there should be hair above her pussy… rooted in short, tawny curls…

Fish it from your pocket now…ribbed for her pleasure…you always have a spare…yesss…trousers off, boxers…now roll it on while she watches…

Now, come to Poppa!

Her scent so spicy-sweet. I want to stroke, lick, nibble, suck…And I know just where I want to start…those luscious melons with the cherries on top…

Yes please, I'll take a double serving …

First I'll nibble and lick her nipples until they're pebbled hard and rosy red…then, when she starts to moan…I'll start to suck…

Oh God! She's circling her nips slowly with the soapy water...her breasts so round…so full...so...Fuuuck! I want to fuck!

No! Wait! Her perfect ass…I'll start there…

First , I'll cup and fondle those perfect peaches sliding my hand in a serpentine motion from the small of her back right down…paying special attention to those spots, can't forget to wash off the spots…prowling she leopard…hot, in heat…crouching in her lair…waiting for the big cat to take her.

Hard... I am SO HARD...SO READY to slide my big stiff cock up into that slick, tight, sheath…knife to sheath knife to sheath…

_**Slow down Big Buddy****…pre cum on the way… **_

No Wait! I want to start with her kneeling in the running water her full lips around my big, hard cock…. Her cheeks hollowed sucking me down…the water slick on my cock…on her hair….her hands cupping my balls, working my cock... her head sliding upanddown upanddown…rhythm…deep throat…and it's all inches away from being mineminemine….

_**Danger! No Touch!**_

Fuck you conscience!

Stop thinking…you're waaay past that point …you passed that point when you walked in the door and saw her…

So what if I fuck a beautiful woman in a shower stall…so what about integrity? I'll be inside of that!

If I were down to my final hour on the planet, it might be nice to check out with my last shred of integrity intact…or not. The water's running over her shoulders, down the sweep and curve of her back….pooling above her world class ass in that little hollow where the leopard spots need my help to disappear.

My body screams and rages. _Touch her_! _Now!_

AAAAH! Naked silky soft, creamy smooth.

Whatever she's up to…she's up to with me right now… She's worth more than anything I have in my bag of tricks including my last shred of integrity.

**FDM/S. Hale Stackhouse's POV(also stream of libido, uh, consciousness)**

Well snap! For a good time with Eric call 1-800-LAWSUIT.

Can I get him to drop his mask and tell me what I need to know…what I think he might know…what he might share if he wants me enough and he's too far gone to care?

There goes his tie and Ah! That broad Chippendale chest…with just the right amount of gold curls… and nipples like pencil erasers.

I lick my lips and the bastard smiles…his eyes are blazing with luscious lickable lust. I'm slick and ready.

**_Get a grip girl…do what you have to do for Tara not for your clit_**…

I gaze seductively over my shoulder. He's watching me like a lion in the grass…hot…intense…tensing to spring…

I slide my hand down the curve of my hip and trace a parabola around my ass ending right below the base of my spine..

"I can't quite reach this spot right here above my bon-bon. Care to join me and do the honors?

His hands are moving faster than I can get my thoughts in order.

_**Think girl…get with the program..Not his…Yours! **_

He's pushed his pants and briefs down off his hips… And oh phuckery!

If he wasn't already fucking folks in the courtroom , the money this man could make as an "escort!"

_**Stop Far! WTF are you doing??**_…

Well, I'm whoring myself out for information…Ms. Uppity Conscience…all's fair in love and war…right?

_**Get a grip on yourself!**_

Can it!

Jesus he's beautiful and now he's rolling it on...now... he's in the shower pressed against me, his cock hard against my back, licking, kissing my shoulders, my neck.

I turn and put my arms around him. He groans and presses hard against me. Ah so good…so…

_**NOT RIGHT! **_

Lalalalala not listening--bitch me out later Ms. C!

I draw him down to me, his tongue sweet and restless in my mouth.

Yesyesyes…

My breasts slick against his chest…He groans…his nipples harden as I suck and pinch . Our hearts pound against each other's skin.

Oh God I'm on fire…a living flame in his arms…and all I want is to burn baby burn…

_**But you HAVE to think...it's what you're trained to do...what you've worked so hard for...why you have this little side job...**_

OK OK party pooper!

"Eric ," I whisper against his mouth.

"Shhh. " He leans down and gently bites my lip. "Mmmm. You're thinking too hard…don't think…not now…"

This is not how this is supposed to play out.

_**Um…Far..Hello?? You need to address the fact that he's sucking your tongue into his mouth**_ .

Oh yeah, I really need to address that...and I sure will Ms. C, I swear, as soon as my pounding heart stops echoing the throbbing pulse between my legs...as soon as he stops doing it.

Eric Northman is running big soapy hands over my tits, hips, and ass. His hands slide lower. We hiss at the same time. Two long, fingers slide up and in. He's very hot, very hard, very naked and very much between my legs. Damn! It feels so good !

I squirm…my body pleads to be doing it with Eric Northman, in a dressing room shower stall, in a strip joint.

I buck my hips against him urging violence. Take me…take it all…

He cups my buttocks and lifts. My legs wrap around him, cool tile against my back, his large, thick cock centimeters from my dripping honey pot.

Ah! Yes! A mouth-watering shiver shoots straight down my middle and settles between my legs. I can't breathe!

Like rampant maenads, my nipples ache to be sucked, my cunt ( the maenad in chief) is pounding my conscience into oblivion and filling me with wild, wild thoughts…thoughts like _just enjoy…go with the oh so fuckalicious flow…_

My conscience, so well formed by my southern grandmother, fights back tooth and nail.

_**For Christ's sake…think of why you're doing this! Think of Tara! Otherwise you're just another horny cunt…That's what he'll think later …his mind has gone south for the moment!**_

"Eric!" I gasp. I tighten my hands on his shoulders which doesn't slow him down a bit… "I'm suddenly not sure about this…"

He moves his hips and growls, " I am."

Any thought of salvaging this is gone, erased in wrenching spasms of anticipation and pleasure.

He enters me in one deep thrust.

Uh Uh Uh OOhhhhh!

He rocks me to my womb with each rhythmic thrust. Bracing me, cupping my slippery ass…

Lust, want, need, fear, and rage--I'm feeling all of that… tumbling in this raging current… waves of ecstasy..throbbing-throbbing through me until I scream…

My head falls back with a soft groan while he continues, strong as a shark…

Faster, harder, deeper…his breath now short, harsh gasps.

He presses hard against me as he jerks and moans.

"Oh Far!" He sighs my name and a sob breaks free from his throat.

His arms are around me and I'm wrapped in a guilty peace.

My worlds are colliding and this man who has just given me his body and the most astonishing fucktastic orgasm of my entire life could destroy my legal career.

Have I seen beneath the mask even a little? Can I trust him even a little ? Even after this…especially after this?

Plus, all I've gotten out of him so far is...well...pleasure...and that won't help me find Tara.

He's already killed me softly with his body...why stop there?

BoomBoomBOOM!

Eric curses in some Slavic sounding language, as Quinn's enraged voice shouts…

" Far?"

I don't answer hoping he'll take the hint that we're busy and go away… bad idea...

"Jesus Far. If that bastard's hurt you, I'll rip his balls off! Open this fucking door right now or I'll break it down!"

Eric grins and raises an eyebrow. Eric only thinks this is funny because he doesn't realize that John doesn't make idle threats.

Be cheerful, confident. "I'm fine John! Really!! Just...um...chill OK?" I hear him grumbling, but he stops pounding.

John's going to be really pissed off at me. No question about that.

I feel like a deer in the headlights, but Eric is chuckling.

"What?" I hiss.

Eric shakes his head and laughs some more.

" It's just that I never did get around to washing off those spots..."

_**********************_

_**To be continued…eh?**_

_**This fic is my lap dance and your reviews are the tips.**_

_**TIP ME BABY!**_

_**;-D**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Birthday Suit Ch 4**

**G-strings and G-Spots**

**A/N: Sorry for the huge gap lovelies. RL can be a beyotch, right? Anyhoo, here are lemons for y'all. And, lookie here—Zigster made a hawt banner for Birthday Suit;-D **http://img532[dot]imageshack[dot]us/img532/4323/thebdaysuit[dot]jpg

**Thanks to my girls AmaZen and FDM who edit my stuff and let me bounce ideas off of their brilliant minds. ****My short **_**Once**_** is up and I'll be updating my spoof **_**Where No Man Has Gone Before**_** real soon—if you haven't read it check it out! I'll also update **_**Dark Storm Rising **_**this week. **

**BTW I'm tweeting with the tweeps at ****http://twitter[dot]com**** / freyasmaire. Just take out the dot slide it together**

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_**And from the first time that she really done me  
Oh, she done me, she done me good  
I guess nobody ever really done me  
Oh, she done me, she done me good  
**__**The Beatles  
**__

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_

**Eric's POV:**

I was going nuts—or my nuts were taking over. Either way, nuts were in the director's chair. Far lathered up her hands, and slid them down my chest. After making sure that my nipples were squeaky clean, she continued her meticulous ministrations stroking and lathering my ass and package until my every nerve ached, throbbed and tingled. Warm water beat down on us sending silver rivulets between Far's breasts, over their creamy swell and taut rosy nipples. My libido took the hint and plunged headlong over the world's most fucktastic waterfall. Her breasts were a delicious combo—soft, firm, warm and slick in my palms. Her salty-sweet nipples pebbled as I touched them with my tongue.

Far shivered, muttered, "Fuck… me…" and rubbed herself against me, running her hands up and down my cock until she had me panting and ready to howl like a wolf.

I chose to interpret that as an invitation. She thought she was a badass? I had an advanced degree in badass. I'd teach her to be bad all over me.

I tightened my hands and pressed my aching hard-on against her. "Oh…yeah."

The perfect curves under my hands—like the curves of a Maserati_,_ or a Jaguar—were slick, sleek, perfectly engineered and ready for acceleration. Deciding to play tour guide, she placed her hands over mine and seared a path down her waist and over her hips. She brushed my fingers lightly across her soft curls, and then rounded the bend. We took our time around the sweet curve of her ass. Far was a rhapsody of curves; the only triangle being the small, perfect one I slid my hand over at the nexus of her thighs.

She moaned deep in her throat sending heat sizzling down my spine to settle in my balls. My mouth and hands were everywhere. I couldn't get enough of her. Her thick, honey hair was a mess, her face flushed; her body was soft and hot and ready to take me. I slid my tongue across the branching tree tattoo above the soft curls and teased that slick silky skin with my tongue. Her hips pulsed and lifted toward me. This was crazy. No, this was perfect and we were going to take it home again.

I knelt down needing to touch and taste her until she came in my mouth. She was so lush, so beautiful, so soft and tight. I gently parted her with my fingers suckled her clit, then lapped and stabbed until she trembled. I growled, "Keep still!" and held her as I took her over the edge, her honey dew melting on my tongue, while she trembled and moaned. Then, she took charge--her soft hair sliding against the length of me. Her mouth was there sucking on me and my whole world slid without resistance into the sweetest throb and burn until I was lost in her—only her.

Touching Far seemed so right. I rose up kissing her long sweet curves, taking my time; I hitched her leg up and slid inside, wanting to feel everything. Christ! I didn't think that I could get any harder, but every incredible inch proved me wrong. She moaned into my mouth as I pulled partway out then slid up into her again and again. Her hands tangled in my hair clenching, stroking me until we had it all-- hot and wet—sweet and dirty—with no holds barred. We moved harder, faster until she arched, cried out and every ounce of me flooded into her in wave after wave of the hottest, sweetest ecstasy as her body pulsed with the pleasure I'd given her.

**S/FDM POV**

The minute Eric touched me and I felt that first electric thrill, I should have seen it coming. I'd set out to play Mata Hari, exotic dancer and spy extraordinaire, but the feel of him—the scent of him-- filled me and dragged me under. That night, I broke every rule that I'd made: NEVER see someone inside the venue, never, never have a relationship with a lap-dance customer, and never have sex with a guy who's not your friend and who probably regards you as a fantasy object.

My rational mind floated somewhere in the ozone, leaving the rest of me on fire and under water at the same time. Like a doomed matador I waved the red cape, and then skewered myself on the long thick horns of a colossal dilemma. No, he was more like a tiger—a tiger I'd lured with some tasty bait. I was definitely riding the tiger, but I wasn't in charge—and neither was he. Something bigger in the form of lust, or fate, conspired to turn that night into the mother of all fuckathons.

When it came to sex, I'd always been able to keep a part of myself aloof, apart from what was happening. I hadn't intended any part of what I was feeling—the waves of emotion, the incredible electric sensations--but once we started, I didn't want it to stop, not when a Viking marauder was busy plundering every inch of me-- fingers fluttering, tongue flicking, plunging and then sucking my….Sweet Jaysus! I couldn't think—could barely breathe as his fingers, lips and tongue played my molten core like a virtuoso. Then I was kneeling on my hands stroking him, cupping him–inhaling his musk, tasting him, as I took him deep into my mouth—sending him soaring to a dizzy height.

Then he stood-- hot and hard and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist. His long hard length felt like heaven—like no man I'd ever felt before. My whole body throbbed and ached—wanting him. Only him. His mouth was on my neck. He grazed me with his teeth as he thrust, rocking into me over and over. His mouth was wild on mine as I thrust and moved with him, the heat between us spreading like a fever.

No man had ever made me feel so free and so freaking spectacular. I was an undergraduate when Bill and I began our affair. I was a trophy for him. He had been my first. I was smart, upwardly mobile... It would have been perfect—except for the small fact that he had neglected to tell me that he was married. Trust. Uncharted territory for me. The only people I had ever totally trusted had been my grandmother and Bill. She was gone, and Bill had betrayed me. I'd trusted Bill, respected him –thought that I'd loved him. I'd given myself to him completely and he'd given me lies, broken my heart and left me questioning the whole idea of true intimacy. Was it really possible, or just another fairy tale?

And there I was, allowing a stranger into my life, a not-quite stranger who could blow my cover and ruin my future career. His touch awakened a hunger I'd never felt for any other man. Now, I was holding him like a breath after riding the world's most fucktastic orgasm. It felt like coming home. .And what was the price going to be, now that he'd shattered some brittle part of me like Waterford crystal? Something bone-deep within-me had caught fire and I sensed that Eric felt it too. _Damn._

**EPOV:**

Eventually, we had to get out of the shower and rationality overtook my libido, grabbed it by the short and curlies and screamed, _What have you DONE?!_

Clothes. Yes that would be the place to begin. All of mine lay in a slightly damp designer heap--Prada socks, boxers, and shoes, Armani shirt, belt, trousers and tie. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to clear my head.

The first thing I saw when I opened them was Far's minimal white thong hanging from the corner of a full length mirror. My index finger and cock twitched simultaneously as I hooked it on my finger. I was too mature and cautious for trophies, wasn't I?

I glanced at Far, grinned like a goofy teen that just had his first taste of American pie, and handed the thong to its rightful owner. What did I really know about Far, except that she sat next to Bill Compton in court, moonlighted as an exotic dancer in a high end club, and pulled me to her like a crumpled car clamped to a scrap yard magnet. My emotions and career would probably end up there too.

Somehow, I made it to home plate without rounding first base. This was every guy's dream situation. But I wanted more—I wanted to see her again outside of this place. It was risky for both of us. She was hot, sexy, a law student…smart…and she needed bucks. Why else would she be working this job? I had bucks. But I wasn't out to be anyone's sugar daddy. Besides her obvious beauty…I wanted to get to know her and she had no reason to trust me—none at all. But, I wanted to find a way to reach the real woman.

It's hard to shut down the stripper persona and get to the real person. I'd learned as a frat boy that when you pick up strippers at their clubs, you're never talking to the real person. At least, not at first. When seducing exotic dancers your first mission is to distinguish the fake signs of interest from the real ones. However this hunt might have started I was pretty damn sure that I'd managed that much when we finished.

.

She turned her back displaying that heavenly ass and I helped her slide the thong up those long, sexy legs. Next she pulled on low riding boot cut jeans, and a beautiful tee-shirt with spiral patterns like ram's horns. Tiny human figures climbed the spiral paths.

Trying to find a neutral topic I ventured," "Far, that's an amazing shirt."

She nodded and smiled—a real smile—not the stage version, "You can call me Sookie— for Susanna--and _yes _it's a nickname, but it's my real one."

Her beautiful face because serious. "The profits from these shirts go to groups trying to end human trafficking. The victims are lured under false pretenses, and once they're in it, it's almost impossible for them to get out."

I brushed a strand of hair from her face. "It's a good cause." I could have said a lot more. Could have told her about the women's testimony, the rapes, the forced abortions, and the beatings. I wanted to make a connection, so I opened up…a crack.

"When I lived in Boston, I worked for the DA who caught and prosecuted one of Boston's ringleaders in human trafficking. I know from the few women who testified that it was and is a devastating existence, full of despair."

Sookie smiled. "I'm glad you were one of the good guys."

**S/FDM POV**

Still riding the magic carpet of endorphins, we finally emerged from the cocoon of the shower and dried each other off.

The room was warm and steamy, the mirror fogged to obscurity. It was just as well. I wasn't sure I wanted to see my reflection at the moment. Eric stood like a Viking god, droplets of sweat and water running down the strong, muscular planes of his chest. He grinned like a Cheshire cat, hooked my thong on his finger, and helped me ease it over my derrière, frowning a bit as his hand passed gently over the purple blotch Amelia had airbrushed to perfection. I pulled on my jeans and then had to grin when I realized that the top I'd worn was perfect for the occasion – it was a fundraising tee-shirt for "Pathways to Hope".

Just as I hoped, he asked about my t-shirt, which gave me the perfect opportunity to talk about human trafficking. I have good reason to support this cause and was surprised that Eric seemed sympathetic and interested. It's certainly not the kind of case DeCastro & Madden would ever take. Unless they were defending one of the wealthy traffickers. like Franklin Mott. When Eric said he'd worked for a DA in Boston who handled a trafficking case, I had to wonder how the hell he wound up working in the biggest shark tank in Philly. I wondered if he still cared about the victims of trafficking and other crimes.

The sobering conversation had dashed any lingering endorphins like a bucket of ice water, so I decided to take the plunge.

"Eric, I know that this trafficking is going on in Philly."

His gazed sharpened as he looked me over. "And you know this how?" He glanced at my sore leg. Damn!

My face reddened but I had to say it. "I dance here by choice and I _don't _have sex for money. But there are women out there who are being forced. My friend Tara dropped a few hints before Franklin Mott had her beaten." He opened his mouth to object.

I glared at him and he shut it. "Yes. I know how things work. You didn't need to know why Mott was watching. Maybe you really believe that Tara's just a slut and Mott's a great role model. But if you handled a trafficking case you _know_ why she didn't come forward…especially after she lost the assault case."

Eric leaned against the dressing table, and looked at me enigmatically. "So tonight was what… sex for information?" I blushed. As far as my original intent, he was spot on.

I swallowed hard, but met his eyes."There's evidence that Tara's been exploited and her…ex-boyfriend...Franklin Mott may be involved in a lot more than running health services and charities. I think Tara's involved and…yes...I need your help."

And just like that, I saw his impassive "lawyer mask" descend. "And that's all you wanted?"

I just couldn't lie to him now. "Well, that's what I started with, but…" I hedged, "Eric, what was tonight for you…?"

I was sure he would hedge, but he didn't. "Not what I thought it was going to be…it was something more…a lot more…"

I met his gaze. "For me too… it started out as a means to an end—and turned into something different—really special."

We stared at each other in silence. His blue eyes narrowed speculatively. I cleared my throat and snorted as Alice in Wonderland's Walrus popped into my head and peered while he gathered up the oysters he'd devour.

His left eyebrow raised a fraction. "What?"

I shrugged. What the hell... Might as well tell him. "I'm thinking 'The time has come the walrus said, to talk of many things…' I think we need to start at first base…but not here."

"Agreed."

My personal phone buzzed somewhere from the bowels of my purse.

I rummaged, placed one phone aside, and rooted for my "real" phone.

A flash of wry humor crossed his face. "So the stripper phone legend is true."

I snorted. "Every stripper who's worked for more than a few days has a throw away cell phone for customers."

"Do you ever answer it?"

I chuckled, "Only in their dreams! Goes straight to voicemail."

He moved toward me until he stood so close that I could feel the heat of his body and had to look up to see his face.

The amused look had left his eyes. "Does this mean that _I_ get your real number?" His fingers brushed my cheek and sent a shiver from my scalp to my toenails.

We'd fast forwarded past, name revelations, insider information, phone numbers, and a date outside the club straight to shower stall sex. So why could I suddenly recall my preteen self asking my Gran how she knew granddad was "the One?"

She'd given me a hug and told me "The key to knowing _starts_ with _you_ sugar. You have to know who and what you want; otherwise, you're wasting your time."

I was still a long way from thinking of Eric as the One. There were many many layers to Eric—plenty of uncharted territory. But, thanks in part to Bill, I'd discovered the hard way, how to tell when a man was not the one. Still something bone-deep had happened between us. There was no denying it.

My eyes met his. "I think you've maybe earned that…privilege." His hands lightly explored the hollows of my back and waist while I scanned the text, gasped, and then read it again.

_Far…I'll B at yr hse t-nite. Trbl cnt tlk C U Ltr...PS Don't 911! Tara_

Stupidly, I sent back, _R U OK? _But she'd stopped texting.

Tara was frightened, alone, possibly hurt. Just thinking of what could have happened and still could happen to her made my stomach clench.

I hastily jotted down my cell number and tried to keep my voice steady as I brushed my lips against his. "Here's my real cell. Call me. Soon. It's Tara…I…um...I've got to go."

"Where? You can't go alone—if what you suspect is even a possibility."

I grabbed my purse. Reached for the door handle,

"Eric…I have to take care of this. Now!"

His nostrils flared. His eyes flashed as his fingers curled around my waist. His quiet voice held a challenge.

"No. I won't let you go alone. You wanted a piece of my mind. Fine. I did my job for Mott. It wasn't my job to know … certain things. But if what you think is true and your friend Tara knows things about Mott, you can't go alone. He'd have her followed. Now where are you going? "

I stiffened in his arms. "Home! Jesus Eric, Tara's out there somewhere trying to get to me! Damnit! You told me what you could…" I snapped. "This isn't your fight."

A tiny muscle in his jaw ticked. "It is now. Do you think that you can shut me out after what—just happened—?"

I shook my head tried to pull away, but Eric tightened his hold. His voice was low--intense.

"This wasn't just a screw–for you or me. And as for supply and demand…"

I opened my mouth to argue and he hauled me against him and kissed me, hard. My bones turned to liquid. I heard myself moan into his mouth, reeling from the shockwave of pleasure that rocked me when his lips were on mine, his tongue flicking, swirling, driving me to distraction and beyond. I slid my mouth to his neck and licked his skin. The taste of him, the feel of his skin, the slight roughness of stubble along his jaw. his smooth firm muscles, the soft ticking hairs on his chest. He groaned, pulled away from me, then nodded when he saw his own feelings mirrored in my body and my eyes.

"Far… um…Sookie, I know you're freaked out about Tara-- about what just happened between us. Do you think I'm any less freaked out? My whole life outside of this…is about constraint…judgment…and I think….outside of here…you walk the same fine line."

He cupped my face and searched my eyes. "Take this risk with me. Trust me. Let me come with you. "

I looked into Eric's eyes, ignored the dark inner voices that muttered and warned of ruin, and allowed a small, bright hope to shine through.

I nodded and relaxed for a moment into his embrace.

"OK. "

His shoulders relaxed slightly and he kissed my forehead. "OK."

The corridor was blessedly empty when we exited to the employee parking lot.

I unlocked my Toyota and Eric slid in, murmuring, "They say, 'to be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved.'"

I thought of my own disappointments and hopes. "That's true, I guess, because you're never more vulnerable."

His hand engulfed mine—big, warm, and comforting. "Thanks for trusting me …Sookie"

I sniffed and quickly wiped my eyes before the tears escaped. "Yeah…well…it's a start…" My life had taught me that trust was a risk. A terrifying, leap of sheer improbable faith. But we were making it together.

* * *

*Eric's broad hands cupped the swell of the reader's…" Mmmmm? Please review…it's a start

**CommonThreadz is a wonderful RL organization that helps vulnerable kids. Check them out at **http:// commonthreadz[dot] org/ shop/ wilson_buy_womens/index[dot]php

** ( I've asked for a T-shirt for Mother's Day)**


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